Tom of the Raiders Part 20

Andrews went to the tender and gathered the men about him. "What we'll do from here on," he said, "depends upon whether the Rebs come through that bridge. If they don't get through, we'll have time enough to gather fuel and burn the bridges ahead of us. If they do get through, the only thing that we can do is to abandon the engine and take to our legs."

"Stop and fight 'em," protested Boss.

"No," answered Andrews. "We're not here to fight. It won't do us or the North any good. We're here to burn bridges and we've done it. If we can't reach the next bridge our work is done. Scatter-each man for himself!"

The General came into a long straight track, which had the small town of Ringgold at its northern end. "If we don't see them by the time we reach the next curve it means they're stopped," said Andrews.

Tom put the last of the fuel into the fire. Brown closed the dampers and glanced at the steam gauge. He shook his head savagely. "If we only had some of that fuel we used on the freight car!" he exclaimed.

"More important to burn the bridge," answered Tom. "I wish Andrews would stop around this bend and fight 'em."

The General was thundering down upon the station at Ringgold. The men stood in the tender gazing silently back, watching for the Texas to come around the curve.

"There!"

Tom looked down the track. The Texas, pus.h.i.+ng the smoldering freight car before her, was still after them! The Ringgold station flashed past, with the bewildered agent looking first at one locomotive and then at the other. The General whipped around the curve.

"Slow down, Knight!" ordered Andrews. "Jump off, men. Scatter and make your way back to the lines!"

Knight shut the throttle and allowed the General to lose speed. Tom, Andrews, and Brown stood aside while the men filed from the tender into the cab. The first stood on the step for a moment, then jumped. Tom saw him strike the trackside and go sprawling. The second jumped ... the third ... the fourth....

"Get ready to reverse the engine, Knight," said Andrews. "We'll send it back on them." Knight threw the lever over. "They'll stop in Ringgold for a minute to shunt that car."

All the men, except the engine crew, were off.

"You next, Tom," ordered Andrews. "Then Brown and Knight. I'll stay by the engine and send her back. Here, Tom, take your coat." In that last moment, Andrews was as calm as if he had reached the end of some commonplace, humdrum journey.

Tom took his coat and put it on. He paused for a second on the step of the General, then leaped. His feet struck the ground and he pitched forward. He arose, dazed and shaken, and stepped into the woods which lined the track.

The General disappeared up the track; a minute later the Texas pa.s.sed him, and he caught a glimpse of the two men who had pursued them from Big Shanty. They were sitting on the edge of the tender, leaning forward eagerly.

"If we'd only stopped to fight them!" thought Tom. But it was too late for that now. The great railroad race was over, and ahead of him lay miles of enemy country. He wondered where the other men were, if he would meet them. He was aroused from his thoughts by the noise of a locomotive coming from the north. The Texas came rolling back, with the two men on the tender waving to the engineer; the General followed, steaming down the track with its cab deserted. But the Southerners had seen it in time to avoid collision.

The gap between the two locomotives narrowed; then they came together gently. One of the men jumped to the General's tender, rushed into the cab and shut the throttle. The locomotive which had carried the raiders on that wild trip from Big Shanty was again in the hands of the Confederates.

Tom stood behind a tree watching them. Presently the Texas started north, pus.h.i.+ng the General before her. The last of its fuel and steam had been used in that final charge down the track.

Tom walked into the woods, away from the railroad, and sank to the ground exhausted. Minutes pa.s.sed while he lay there resting. Every muscle in his body was sore, and it was enough just to stretch out with his head against the cool moist ground. The problem of getting out of the enemy's country and back to his own lines seemed too remote to be considered now. But presently he sat up and began to wonder what would happen next. He was about twenty miles from Chattanooga-he knew that from studying the map at Marietta. Mitchel's lines lay to the west, probably fifty miles away. To the north lay the flooded Tennessee River, which he would have to cross. And as for himself, he was s.h.i.+rtless and grimy with soot; he was almost without food, and dead tired. To make matters worse, just as though they were not bad enough, the drizzle of rain, which had been an implacable enemy since that night on the road to Wartrace, gave no signs of ending. Evening was approaching.

Tom got to his feet. First, he decided, he would put a greater distance between himself and the railroad. He walked through the forest and came to a road. It was deserted. Regardless of the danger of being seen so near to the spot where they had burned the bridge, he followed the road to the north. His ears were straining for the least sound of people approaching, and he dived into the bushes several times when he thought he heard someone. Then, since no one came, he took to the road again. He had his cape fastened around his neck to hide his s.h.i.+rtlessness, and he dabbed at his face with his handkerchief, wiping away the soot. But the idea of getting clean without soap and warm water was hopeless.

He heard the unmistakable creak of wheels behind him, and sprang into the bushes. Presently a heavy wagon, drawn by two tired-looking, emaciated horses, appeared on the road. In the wagon were two men and a woman. The man who was driving was carrying on a grumbling monologue. You worked like a dog, he said, to grow crops and then the government seized them to feed to good-for-nothing soldiers. The only crops he'd grow this year would be just enough for his own family. If the government wanted anything from him the government would have to pay him in advance.

Not a word about the burnt bridges or the stolen train! Tom listened eagerly. These people were coming from the direction of Ringgold, and certainly they would be talking about the havoc the Yanks had raised-if they knew of it. When the wagon had disappeared around the bend, Tom came out on the road again. Until the news spread over the countryside he was safe from interference.

After an hour's walking he came to a scattering of houses at a cross-roads.

Over one was a sign "General Store," painted in sprawling, uneven letters.

It would probably be his last chance before the chase began to buy the things he needed. He opened the door and entered the dimly lighted store.

An old man came out from the back room.

"Good evening," said Tom. "I want to buy a s.h.i.+rt."

"Evenin'," replied the man. "s.h.i.+rt? Well.... s.h.i.+rt? Don't think I've ever seen you before. D'you live around this a-way, young man?"

"No, I'm just going through to Chattanooga."

"Mary," called the man, "bring that light." A woman in the back room mumbled in response. Tom dreaded the light. In the dusk of the store he could hide his appearance, but with the lamp they would see how disheveled and dirty he was. And, if they had heard any rumors of what had happened during the day, they would suspect him instantly. He looked around at the door and picked his course between the barrels and boxes which lay strewn about the floor.

The woman entered with the light. "Well, I declare!" she exclaimed, looking at Tom. He was, indeed, a strange looking specimen. His face was streaked with black, for his attempts at rubbing himself clean with his handkerchief had been unevenly distributed. His black eyelids, as he blinked in the light, made him grotesque. "What's happened to you?" demanded the woman.

"I've been fighting a fire," answered Tom. He was ready to jump for the door.

"A fire! Where?"

That was encouraging. "Down south of Ringgold," Tom replied. "The bridge caught on fire from a locomotive."

"Y' don't say so!" exclaimed the man. "Y' don't say so!"

"Jeb!" screeched the woman.

"Yes'm," came the response from the back room. A small boy straggled into the store.

"Whyfor you don't tell us there's a fire down Ringgold way?" asked the woman.

"There wa'n't no fire when I left," he answered.

"When did you leave?" asked Tom.

"'Round noon."

"I guess you just missed it," replied Tom. He was on fairly safe ground now. "The fire didn't start until after one o'clock."

"Huh!" grunted the boy.

"Y' don't say so!" exclaimed the man again. "What happened?"

"Let's have a s.h.i.+rt," said Tom. "I'll tell you about it while you're finding the s.h.i.+rts." The old man turned toward the littered shelves and commenced pawing over the merchandise which had acc.u.mulated there. The woman and the boy drew closer, waiting anxiously for the news. "I was waiting for the pa.s.senger train at Ringgold," continued Tom. "But the train didn't come. After a while we saw some smoke to the southward and we thought that was the train. But it wasn't. The smoke just stayed in one spot."

"Y' don't say so!" exclaimed the man, stopping his search.

"Yep," answered Tom, "but find the s.h.i.+rt for me. After a few minutes the station agent...."

"Morrison," interjected the woman.

"Yes, I believe his name was Morrison, come to think of it," replied Tom.

"Well, Morrison got on the hand car."

"I rode on the hand car once," said the boy.

"Shut up!" ordered the woman. Her husband stopped again in the search to glare at the offender.